


The Met

by schfiftytwo



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: A little bit of fluff, A little bit of recklessness, A little bit of violence (and maybe more), Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Police, Crimes & Criminals, Detectives, F/F, Police, Post-War, Washington D.C., a little bit of language, really just a little bit of everything
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-16
Updated: 2015-11-03
Packaged: 2018-04-26 15:29:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5010055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schfiftytwo/pseuds/schfiftytwo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's post-war DC, and two young detectives are assigned to a string of cases in a horrific crime spree.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> After a very long run of episodes of Law & Order: SVU, Brooklyn Nine-Nine, The Fall, and watching the roomies play LA Noire, I thought it'd be fun to try my hand at a crime story. Feels a *bit* weird plotting out a crime, but we'll see where this all goes. I'll be using some DC locales I pass by every day (with some liberties), so if you're curious where some of my inspiration comes from, I'll make notes of things you can take a peek at on Google Street View.
> 
> I also did almost zero research for this, so if something seems completely unlikely or just plain wrong, let me know!
> 
> /and if you're wondering where my other story updates went to, they're in "various stages of completion"
> 
> //thats code for they're coming, and I definitely dont just have a few sentences for each of them just sitting on my computer. promise.
> 
> Feel free to leave some words for me; I love comments. :)

_Monday Morning, 1949_

“Stop, **THIEF**! Someone, stop **HIM**!”

The woman cried out with all her might as the attention of the crowd around her perked up ever so slightly. The perp on the other hand wasn’t about to stop running. This lady had a _very_ nice purse, and he was more than willing to take it off her hands. Having a .38 special thrust into your belly tended to be a compelling reason for people to let him do as he pleased, and this one was no exception. Fuckin’ civilians.

Rounding a corner, the perp ducked into an alleyway and took a seat behind a dumpster, clear out of the view of the street. Wasting no time, he began to rifle through it, pulling and tossing out all kinds of girl-junk; a golden lipstick tube, a mirror (which gave a satisfying crack as it hit the wall behind him), a bunch of receipts…

_And now a checkbook. Bingo._

Opening it, he suddenly heard the distinct sound of a hammer being pulled back against the barrel of a gun.

“I suggest you put that down. Hands where I can see them.”

The voice was a woman’s; soft, almost tomboy-ish.

_No way I’m gonna get nabbed by a lady-cop._

“Alright. Alright,” he said, putting down the checkbook, “you got me, miss. You got me.”

He kept his head down, focusing and then finally acting. He ducked forward and pushed the cop back into the opposite brick wall with a thud. Wasting no time, he kicked away her gun.

_Guess its my lucky day. A purse… **and** a shield for me…_

She looked up at him, her eyes wide. “Hey, calm down…nobody wants to hurt anyone here,” she said, raising her hands above her head, “Let’s all just take a second…”

“Ain’t nobody calming down here, miss.” he said, pulling out his own gun. He cocked it back, finger resting squarely on the trigger. Shame he had to kill this one; she was pretty. Fair skin, nice and fit. He even saw a bit of Asian in her. Not bad at all.

_”You shoot her and I swear to god I will blow you away, buddy. Drop it **NOW**.”_

Female. Accented. What was that, a cockney twang?

_Great. Another one._

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted another woman, dressed in a long coat and dress, the shotgun in her hands aimed right at him. He smiled, dropped his gun, and felt a blow across his head as he fell unconscious, his head filled with one lingering thought.

_I’m had. By…two…chicks…un…fucking…believable…._

Jemma stared at the perp she had just decked to the ground. Switching to look at her partner, her face turned from relief to anger.

“Skye, I told you to wait for me, I was right around the corner! You could have been killed!”

Her partner, dusting herself off and retrieving her gun, gave her a defensive glare.

“I wasn’t about to let him get away, Jemma. Even if he was just a street robber, we have a duty to stop these people. I knew you were right behind me; I didn’t have anything to worry about!”

“What if he’d gotten you before I arrived? What if he’d shot you and gotten away? Then what…?” Jemma scoffed, her jaw clenching.

Skye’s expression softened at her words. She could sense what Jemma was really getting at.

“Hey.” she replied, propping her shotgun against the alley wall, “I’m still here. He didn’t get me. And you know I can take care of tiny street thugs by myself.”

She smiled at Jemma. That damn smile. She couldn’t stay mad at that, not even for a second. Exhaling the last bits of her anger away, Jemma relented. Holstering her gun, she pulled Skye by the coat closer to her.

“I know. But…you make me worry sometimes.” she said, finishing with a kiss planted right on Skye’s forehead.

They parted, the two of them admiring the small moment they’d just shared. The sounds of police sirens began to fade in from the distance. Taking a step back, Jemma pulled out a pair of handcuffs and offered them to Skye.

“Care to bag your perp before the Met gets here? I’m _sure_ you can tell Chief Coulson all about how you took care of this urchin back at the station.”

Chief Coulson eyed the two of them closely, reclining back in his chair. He didn’t look particularly amused.

“And where were you in all of this, Detective Simmons…?”

“I - well, I was in pursuit as well -“

“Meaning you weren’t with your partner, correct?”

“N-no, not exactly sir, but I -“

“Your partner was alone when she encountered the perp. An armed perp. If there’s ever even a **CHANCE** that a perp is armed, you need to call in backup. I don’t want any heroes here. Heroes don’t make it long at all, especially these days…”

He sighed, massaging his temple.

“…You know, I’m glad that the two of you are on my squad, but for Christ’s sake, I don’t need to attend another funeral for a cop who got a little too eager.”

He pointed at the opposite wall, over to nameless stars on a nameless plaque commemorating those who fell in the line of duty.

“The last thing I need is to add another one there.”

“Exactly what I told her after she nabbed our robber, sir.”

“Detective Simmons. I know she’s got a stellar record for a rookie, but she needs to learn discretion. You’re our best, rub some of that know-how off on her.”

**cough** “… _Teacher’s pet_ …” **cough**

“I heard that, Detective Skye. You’re not off the hook here….”

 

****

**_*- a few minutes later - *_ **

 

“I think that went pretty well, don’tcha think?” Skye said, closing the door to their chief’s office.

“ ‘Well’ is a relative term, Skye. You’re lucky he didn’t bump you down to beat cop.”

“Bah,” she replied, waving her hand at Jemma’s face, “Coulson knows I’m good. He did pick me personally out of the new recruits…Imagine that, the Chief of the Metropolitan Police, Central Ward, chooses me! I’m like a walking lucky charm.” As if to accentuate her point, she twirled around, her long coat flaring out behind her.

Jemma sighed. Skye was a wonderful, wonderful woman….when she wasn’t trying to be a superhero.

_Real life isn’t like the comics, love._

“Detectives!”

The two of them turned around at the familiar voice. Before them was their rather voluptuous case liaison, one Bobbi Morse, holding a stack of files.

“Got a new load for you; Chief says you specifically requested Traffic cases, so here’s yours…” she said, unloading a particularly large file on Skye’s desk, “…and yours, Detective Simmons. Got an arson case here from Northeast DC, looks like a good time. Let me know if you need anything else.”

“Wait what?" Skye pleaded, "I told the Chief I wanted something interesting to work on! I’m so far above this stuff, Traffic is for kids -“

“— which you are —“

“— at least I’m a real cop and not some desk —“

“— don’t you _DARE_ finish that sentence —“

The door from behind them opened, their Chief sticking his head out.

“ENOUGH! My precinct is a professional outfit, **not a playroom**!! Skye, you’re on Traffic for recklessness, not another word. Simmons, keep your partner in line or else you’re next. Morse, get back to your desk and stop taunting them.”

**SLAM**

_So much for being the teacher’s pet…_ Jemma thought to herself.

“Wait wait,” Skye chirped, clearly un-phased by the Chief’s threat as she spun around on her chair, “Would you be so kind as to bring us some food, Miss Morse…? I’m starving….”

Bobbi’s eyes winced ever so slightly as she walked up to the pleading detective.

“Detective Skye…I’m your case agent….” she said, hands on her hips, “… _not your maid_.”

Turning around, she raised her hand goodbye at the two of them. “Get your own food! And don’t die out there…!” she said as she walked off.

Leaving behind the hubbub around her and Skye muttering some very unsavory words about this recent ordeal, Jemma leaned back in her chair, now feeling the fatigue of their latest grab hitting her. Stretching her arms out, she debated how to go about the rest of the day. Files, charts, reports? Reports, files, charts…? So many options.

_Reports it is._

She looked up from her writing after a few minutes to look over at Skye, now busying herself looking over one of her traffic cases. Her face was one of poise, a far cry from the slightly childish edge she tended to put out for everyone. Jemma couldn’t help but smile discretely at her partner, on and off the force as it was.

Their relationship was of course a bit of a secret; the world hadn’t progressed far enough that their kind of relationship could be shared in the open so easily. Only the Chief, Morse, and a few select others knew about them. Over in Britain, her home country, people were jailed and shamed for such things; she shuddered to think of the consequences of someone outside her circles finding out what they shared.

It was a strange match; she’d gone to college, worked in Army Intelligence during the war, and afterwards found detective work a worthy way to keep her mind occupied. Skye on the other hand was a bit of an enigma. Her parents had abandoned her before the war, and left her on an orphanage doorstep. Being left by your own parents would’ve been something Jemma couldn’t have borne for any length of time, let alone the years that Skye endured. She’d left the orphanage as soon as she hit 21 and joined the force, rising through the ranks until she became one of the youngest detectives the DC Met had ever seen. Not surprising that Chief Coulson snatched her right up; she was a natural at this stuff.

Her youthfulness reminded Jemma of her own early days on the force, how she struggled to even bear the weight of standard issue handguns. She was sure that Skye probably had no issues with that. Even now as one of the best detectives on the force, Jemma held Skye in remarkable regard.

As she pondered, Skye looked up from her files. Locking eyes together, they gifted each other a small smile as they resumed their work.

Skye paced around the bed she shared with Jemma, her hands emoting left and right.

“…And then I kinda fell asleep in the file room looking for some transcripts, and I forgot my key so of course I had to call out for help, and this nice guy, I think his name was Officer Ward…?”

Jemma, sitting in bed with a book, nodded half-attentively at her lover’s story. “Mhmm, Officer Ward helped you…”

“Here’s the thing though, as soon as he let me out, he started coming onto me, and I mean like REAL cheesy lines. I thought I was gonna gag.”

“Oh yes, how could you have withstood such treatment….”

“That’s not even the good part! He grabbed me, and told me that I owed him something.”

At this, Jemma let her book drop down. She could feel her heartbeat quicken as her mind began to process what she’d just heard.

“He…He grabbed you?”

Skye, perking up a bit at the newfound attention, immediately recanted. “Oh no no, not like that! He just kind of grabbed my arm and I told him I’d give him more than just a brass knuckle sandwich if he didn’t let me go. I had him scared, you should have seen him run!”

_Sigh. Skye, my Skye. What am I going to do with you._

Jemma sat up, motioning Skye to come up next to her. As soon as they were close enough, Jemma planted the biggest kiss she could muster right on her soft lips.

“Jemma…”

Hushing her partner, Jemma craned her head into the crook of Skye’s neck.

“Love. I know you can take care of yourself, that you’re a great detective, and that you’ve got the toughest edge out of all of us on the squad.”

She traced circles on Skye’s thigh as she continued.

“But…after today, I had the most awful thought that…”

“That what…?”

“That you’d do something that you couldn’t get yourself out of.”

“Jemma, I -“

“Let me finish. I…I trust you, Skye. I trust you so very much. But you have to promise me…” she said, sitting up and looking into her partner’s deep brown eyes, “…promise me that you’ll be more careful.”

Her voice was tinged with fear. Jemma felt what could have been a tear roll down her cheek.

Skye looked back at her, a thoughtful frown appearing at the corner of her lips.

“I’m sorry for scaring you, Jemma. I…I know that I can be a bit of a handful. I always have been. But…I should know better. You're right.”

She returned Jemma’s kiss, resting her hand on one tear-stained cheek.

“Plus. I am the _best_ detective on the force, after all…”

Jemma laughed, her fear disappearing as easily as it had come. How Skye could consistently put her at ease was just beyond her understanding. It was a superpower, for sure.

“I said you were _great_ , not the best, love….”

“Oh, you want me to prove it to you…?” Skye replied, making moves to straddle herself on top of Jemma, “You know I’m highly trained in _persuasion_ , right?”

Jemma gave her a flustered look, her ears and cheeks turning red. “Well. You know...you're not the only one with _special skills_ , right….?”

She took the instant after her words to grab Skye and pull her down, the two of them rolling and giggling in their embrace. As Skye taunted Jemma to take things one step further, the mood was shaken by a sudden ring from the kitchen.

Giving her partner a slightly sullen look, Jemma pulled herself off their bed and walked over to pick up the phone.

“Jemma Simmons.”

“Detective, it’s Coulson. Sorry to bother you after hours, but we’ve had something come up. I need you and Skye on scene, corner of P and 28th.”

“Yes sir, right away. We’ll be there shortly.”

Putting the phone back down on the receiver, Jemma sauntered back over to Skye, now sprawled across the bed with her eyes closed.

“Sweetheart. We have work to do.”

“Ugh. Can’t we just play hooky for a night…?” Skye protested.

“Hey,” Jemma replied, tapping Skye’s cheek, “the District needs its top detective.”

She could make out the frown on Skye’s face slowly forming. Planting a kiss to soothe her frown, Jemma wandered to their closet to change. As she slipped out of her nightgown, she looked back at her partner, now ogling her semi-naked form.

Grinning to herself, Jemma picked out her work outfit.

“If you get up and get ready, I promise we’ll catch up right where we left off.”

She turned around completely, revealing her uncovered chest. She felt a pleasurable heat build inside her as she watched Skye become much more flustered than usual. Grinning to herself, she cut away from Skye, donning some proper clothing.

_And then I’ll be all yours, love._

“Detectives, good to know you could stop by.” Coulson said, holding up the police tape surrounding the scene.

The trio walked amid a sea of squad cars and beat cops taking statements and fending off early-bird reporters. They were in a suburban area of the city, covered with lots of old colonial row homes amid big, towering willows and oak trees.

“What’s the situation, sir?” Jemma asked.

“Well, we got an anonymous call about an hour ago from a payphone around the corner about a commotion happening here, at this address…”, he said, flipping through his notebook, “…2805 P Street. Owner of the house is a local entrepreneur, owns a few restaurants in the city.”

He lifted another police tape barrier up, leading Jemma and Skye inside the house. It was a lovely three-story row home, with a red-brick exterior. The interior was darkened, the electricity in the house presumably having been cut. Coulson rounded a corner and stopped.

“And here’s our John Doe.”

He motioned toward a man's body lying on the floor, two bullet holes placed cleanly on his forehead and chest. He was dressed in a sharp-looking grey suit, as if he'd just come from the office.

“A John Doe…is this not the owner of the house?” Jemma asked.

“No, the owner is out of the country; frankly we have no clue how this guy got in here. No signs of immediate forced entry or attempted burglary.”

“Do we have a list of possible fugitives, Chief?”

“Not at this point, no. We’re still canvassing the area; we reached out to Missing Persons, waiting on them with anything they might have.”

“Alright. Do you mind if Skye and I take a closer look around?”

“Of course. Take your time; I’ll be outside controlling the hecklers.”

As Coulson stepped out, Skye and Jemma found themselves alone with a body and an entire home to take a look at.

Skye squatted next to the body, her already-gloved hands examining the head wound. “Precision work; high-caliber weapon from the looks of it…no extensive damage, might be full-metal jacket. It looks like a professional hit. And he definitely didn’t die here; the floor under him is clean, no blood pooling or other residue. It’s like…like somebody killed him and left him here.”

She got up, standing in front of the body and imitating holding a gun.

“If I wanted to take this guy out with this kind of damage…I’d want to be relatively close. The longer the distance, the slower the bullet at impact and the more likely that it would lodge itself in. If I was here…” she said, moving closer to the body, “it’d be a clean in-and-out shot. Interesting.”

Jemma listened as Skye described her take on the crime, herself looking through the rest of the home for anything out of the ordinary. Picking up a few photographs, she gazed at the people in each.

“Handsome family. Lots of sons and daughters here…but I don’t see any wife in these photos. Hmm.”

She walked down the hallway and into the back kitchen. Looked like a typical family home setup, a few dishes in the sink. Her eyes came upon the back door, slightly ajar.

_That looks a bit suspicious._

Drawing her gun, she pushed open the door and stepped out into the backyard. It was small and dark, but there was enough light to make out a glistening patch of something splattered up on the back wall. Walking up to the stain, she quickly realized it was blood. Lodged in the wall in the center of the red were shards of metal. Bullet fragments.

“This must be where our vic died…CSI should be out here ASAP.”

Holstering her gun, she returned inside and found Skye just finishing her examination of the victim.

“There’s blood and bullet fragments on the wall in the backyard; I have a feeling that’s where our victim bit it. Anything special come up while I was out?” Jemma asked.

“No, nothing. That’s the weird part,”Skye replied, taking her dirtied gloves off. “There’s very little blood pooling around the chest, really around anywhere. You’d think that there would be more blood around here; he got shot in some very bleeding-prone areas.”

“That is odd. What do you think…?”

“I’m not sure. I think we need CSI to come and bag and tag everything; get this guy over to the ME for a closer look.”

“Agreed. I also think we need to contact the homeowner; the back door was open, so someone must have entered/exited the house during the crime to have left it open without damaging the lock. The owner might know if anyone around could have that kind of access.”

“Sounds good, partner.” Skye said, smirking.

“What’s that?” Jemma retorted.

“Oh, nothing, nothing. I just…I think it’s cute when you’ve got your detective on.”

She gave Jemma a wry smile as she turned and walked out the front door of the house.

_You’re insufferable, you minx._ Jemma thought, thankful that the darkness hid the blush creeping across her face.


	2. The Lead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our detectives lay further into the evidence as the plot thickens.

_And in tonight’s headlines, a man was found fatally shot in Northwest DC, right in the heart of Georgetown. DC police arrived at the corner of P & 28th at around 11pm after reports of a commotion at a local residence. Here’s Central Chief Phil Coulson with an official statement:_

_“Tonight, a man’s life was violently ended in a quiet neighborhood, one filled with young families and children. While details are scarce, we hope that whoever is responsible for this heinous act is brought to justice; the Met’s finest are on the case now…”_

“Well, here we are.”

Jemma pulled out her keys from the ignition and stepped outside. A cool, briny wind blew across her face, the DC waterfront only a few blocks away. She looked up at the imposing building before her and Skye, a brutalist citadel of concrete. Tying the belt around her coat to stave off the chill, the pair began to walk to the entrance.

“This is where they take all the stiffs we find in the city…?” Skye asked.

“Yes, Skye. Forensics does all their work here,” Jemma replied, opening the door to the lobby, “…And love, don’t call them stiffs. I’m not sure the ME would appreciate that.”

“Hah,” Skye scoffed, “Come on. If someone who spends all their time with dead people can’t handle a bit of joking around, then I’m not sure that —“

_’’Not sure of what, Detective….?”_

Skye choked on her words as an imposing woman looked up at them, her eyes narrowed and brow furrowed at their presence. She was dressed in a conservative black dress, an off-white lab coat draped over her shoulders. In her hands was a metal patient chart. 

Jemma strode between the woman and her still-befuddled partner before sparks began to fly. “Ahh, this is Dr. Melinda May, Chief Medical Examiner for the District of Columbia,” she interjected, “and Doctor, this is my partner, Detective Johnson.”

“Good to see you again, Detective Simmons.” she replied curtly, her eyes fixated on Skye’s.

Melinda softened her still-narrowed gaze as she put her hand out. “And I’m pleased to meet you, Detective,” she said, shaking Skye’s hand, “I’ll have you know I run a tight outfit here. I’d appreciate it if you gave my office its due respect.”

Nodding at the pair, Melinda turned around to lead them to the morgue, her boot-falls echoing in the otherwise silent hallway. Jemma frowned at a now-very embarrassed Skye as they followed her, the two hurriedly pointing and mouthing blame at each other.

_Why didn’t you tell me the ME was an emotionless stone?!?_

_You’re a detective, how did you not figure that out?_

_This is my first time here, a little warning might have been nice….!_

_Well I’m sorry for not giving you the rundown, ‘Detective Johnson’….!_

Their silent jabs abruptly ended as the trio entered the morgue. Before them, a lone steel table covered with a raised sheet stood at the far end of the room, illuminated by a spotlight. Surrounding them were cadaver freezers marked with names of the dead, and collections of nasty-looking medical tools lining the walls and workbenches.

“If you’ll find a spot here, I’ll go over my findings,” Melinda said, putting her chart down, “Also. There’s a jar of menthol rub behind you on the bookshelf, if you’re not used to the smell.”

Mentally heeding the doctor’s warning, Jemma tapped Skye on the shoulder. 

_Probably a good idea not to gag in here with the ME while she gives us her findings._

The two retreated back, applying some of the mint-scented gel below their noses. Stepping back into the light of the table, they watched carefully as Dr. May pulled back the sheet, revealing the now-dissected body of their victim. His chest had been cut open, revealing the extent of his internal injuries. Sets of organs had been set aside next to him on the table, some pockmarked with bullet holes. Putting on a pair of examination gloves, she began her report. 

“Victim’s a 45-year old caucasian male, died from a single bullet to head. This one was relatively straightforward; your vic was shot at near-point blank range in the head, killing him instantly. The bullets to the chest were most likely just insurance by the shooter; by the time he hit the ground, he was definitely already dead. I’d say from the size of the bullet holes and the clean entry and exit wounds that it was a small-caliber round, likely full metal jacket.”

Skye whistled as she took a closer look at the killshot on their victim’s head. Jemma could hear her partner’s mental fanfare at having guessed that exact cause of death back at the crime scene.

“The interesting thing is what we found on the back of his head,” Melinda said, picking up the victim’s head and turning it toward the two detectives, “if you’ll look closely, there’s some spackling residue on his hair. We sent it up to the lab for processing; turns out that there was a bit of gunpowder mixed in there and some micro fragments of metal, so he might have been shot against a wall, kicking dust, chips of the bullet, and gunpowder still coating the round.”

This time it was Jemma’s turn to take a closer look. Remembering what she saw in the backyard of the crime scene, she spoke up. “That’s interesting. At the crime scene there was a blood splatter on the wall in the backyard. Do you think it might have come from that?”

The doctor nodded. “It’s likely. The spackling matches what would typically be found on an outdoor concrete wall. I don’t mind sending the sample analysis we got to your crime scene people to compare them.”

Jemma made a mental note that what she saw in the backyard might very well have been the site of her victim’s death. She shuddered, imagining how he must have been shot pretty expertly, maybe even execution-style, given the cleanliness of the wounds.

“Your victim also had an interesting side condition; as we were running our diagnostics, one of my assistants noticed lesions on his groin. I requested an analysis; my techs have preliminary reports saying that the bacteria they found was _treponema pallidum_.”

The two detectives looked up from examining their victim. “Trep-o-what now…?” Skye asked.

“Syphilis. Your victim had it bad, too. I’d say if whoever didn’t kill him did him in, that was bound to take him down sooner or later.”

_Syphilis. I wonder if that’s at all related to this…he must have known about it if it was severe enough that it was on the way to killing him…_

Jemma pulled out her notebook, jotting down the notes and angles she was envisioning. Skye followed suit, writing down her own notes.

_Shot at close range, possibly a professional killing based on the lack of messy evidence. Has a sexually-transmitted infection. Lots of unknowns. Who is this guy, why is he dead, why was he found in someone else's home?_

Jemma could feel her mental gears start to turn. Now here was a case.

“I think we’ve got all we need for now, Doctor.” Jemma said, putting her notebook away.

“We’ll be in touch if there’s anything else we might need.” Skye added.

Melinda gave them a curt nod. “He’ll be here if you need to take another look at him. No next of kin information, so he’ll have a freezer to himself for now.”

Not wanting to hear more about storing bodies, Jemma led the way out of the morgue, Melinda following behind them. Reaching the front door, Jemma turned with her hand outstretched.

“Thanks for your help, Doctor,” Jemma said, shaking Melinda’s hand, “Keep in touch.”

“Yes. And I apologize for what I said earlier. Won’t happen again, ma’am.” Skye said apologetically.

Jemma thought she saw a grin appeared on the corner of Melinda’s mouth. The doctor silently nodded at them. “Go get ‘em, Detectives.”

As the pair returned inside their car, Skye snuck her hand over to Jemma’s, weaving their fingers together over the stick-shift.

“So, Detective Simmons,” Skye asked, “what do you think of the case now?”

Jemma audibly coughed at her partner’s comment. “Love, it makes me cringe when you call me ‘Detective Simmons’…and I’m not sure. There are still a lot of unknowns here. We need to wait a bit longer, wait for break while we get all our initial information.”

“Well Detective, why don’t we canvas the neighborhood of the crime scene, ask around to see what was up?”

“We could do that, the evening hasn’t gotten too far yet.”

“Or…” Skye asked, her neck craning, “We can go first thing in the morning. Those people aren’t going to go anywhere.“

“Skye, I’m not sure that waiting —“

Before Jemma could finish her sentence, Skye leaned over and planted a kiss to silence her, this one a bit more… _enthusiastic_ …than usual.

“Coulson interrupted us. I’m making an executive decision here. I mandate that we get some rest before we do anything else.”

Jemma shot her partner a sly glance, starting up their car. “Are you sure we’ll be rested, love…?”

“I think we can arrange that and… _not_ resting…” Skye said, tightening her fingers around Jemma’s.

The two of them laughed at their banter, quickly pecking each other on the lips before driving off into the night.

Jemma sat back in her chair, rubbing her bleary eyes. It was quite late, and after a few *much-needed* romps with her partner in bed, she found herself sitting at her desk staring at her case notes. The two of them had decided to interview people who lived around the crime scene first thing in the morning, but Jemma didn’t want to go stirring up any unwanted rabbling with the locals. The murder had occurred in a relatively affluent part of the city, and she was more than aware of how the rich folk up in Georgetown liked to make a scene of things.

_If only we had more bloody evidence, maybe we’d have a real lead here…._

She flipped soundlessly through the handwritten pages, reviewing facts that at this point were burning into her memory. There had to be something they could press the locals on, something more than the typical “someone was found murdered next door, do you know what happened” spiel.

She remembered the initial 911 call detailed sounds of a struggle. Perhaps one of the neighbors knew the family that lived there. Even if the owner of the house or his family wasn’t around to talk to, there had to be someone who would know the goings-on in there.

_Wait._

Turning back to her original notes, Jemma paused at something else Coulson had mentioned to them when they’d arrived on-scene. The owner of the house was also a restauranteur. They’d have to do some digging but talking to restaurant employees seemed like a solid option to go on. Maybe they noticed something off about the owner, or maybe they knew who their John Doe was. 

Either way, there was going to be a lot of talking to people that day. She’d be sure to tell Skye this the minute she woke up.

 _I bet she’d be happy to know I’ve got us some solid avenues to investigate…_ she thought to herself, now feeling the night catching up to her. Stretching in her chair, she decided to head back to bed. 

Slipping back under the sheets, she felt the warmth of her partner, her face angelic as it rested. Jemma ran a hand across it, smiling to herself as she closed her eyes.

“So you’ve worked here for…five years, and you’ve never once met the owner. Is that what you’re saying?”

The maitre d’hotel shrugged, sounding exasperated. “Yes, Detectives. I was hired in by an agency, and the chef at the time was the only one I worked directly with. I never met the owner; only thing I ever got from him was my paycheck.”

“You realize that a man was found murdered in the home of the owner of this restaurant, right?” Skye pressed.

“Yes, I saw on the news. But like I said, I don’t know anything about that. It’s a tragedy but people kick the bucket all the time. As far as I know, this restaurant and its employees have no connection to that crime. I guarantee it, and to think otherwise would be ludicrous.”

Skye rubbed her temples in frustration. It took nearly everything Jemma had in her not to just press him even more directly. _How on earth could you work for a restaurant for years and never once meet the guy who owned it?_ Not like this was a chain restaurant, it was a real brick-and-mortar shop, original storefront and everything.

If they weren’t on official police business, Jemma might have given this place a nod for a dinner date.

“Alright. Would you mind if my partner and I took a seat to discuss a few things? We won’t be very long.” Jemma said, putting her notebook back in her coat.

The maitre d’hotel gave them what looked like a glare, pointing to the dining room. “Don’t take too long. We’re running a business here; people don’t want to see cops when they should be enjoying their food.”

Choosing a nearby booth, the pair removed their coats and sat down.

“Well he was pleasant, no?” Jemma said, massaging her temples.

“Jemma, his story just screams ‘I’m shady, leave me alone.’ We need to bring him in.”

“We can’t just pull the cuffs on him, love. We don’t have a shred of evidence to hold him. We need to dig more, maybe we can ask the kitchen staff. I saw a reservation ledger on the host stand, we can ask to take a look at that before we leave…”

_”Can I get you two anything to drink?”_

The two looked up at a young hostess, sporting a teal waitress outfit and a freshly pressed apron. Her nametag read “Angie M.”

“Umm…a cup of coffee for me, and a cup of tea for my friend here.” Skye replied, “OH! And one slice of apple pie.”

“You bet’cha, sweetie. Comin’ right up.”

Jemma looked at Skye with a raised eyebrow. “Pie? Don’t you think it’s a bit early for dessert, Skye…?”

Skye gave her a wave. “This is the land of the free, Jemma. If I want pie for breakfast, then I’ll have pie for breakfast. It’s the same thing as having donuts in the morning!”

Jemma nodded, an incredulous smile creeping across her face.

“How do you suppose we go about getting a look at that ledger?" Skye asked, "The maitre d' clearly wasn’t down to cooperate, and I’m not sure asking him would go down so well.”

“Hmm,” Jemma thought out loud, “you could try distracting him and I can flip through a few of the pages…”

“Or I could just swipe it on the way out…”

“Hush now, we’re police officers Skye, not thieves.”

“Well I’m sure if someone asked we can say we’re acting for the greater good, right?”

“Skye…”

As they continued to banter away, Angie returned with their order, two piping hot cups and a golden slice of pie.

“Enjoy, ladies. I’ll be around if you need anything.” she said, giving them a warm smile.

Jemma pulled her tea closer to her, enjoying the warmth on her hands.

“Mmm. Want some? It’s really good…” Skye said, holding up a forkful of glistening baked apple and pie crust.

Jemma could feel her stomach growl; they’d been questioning that maitre d’hotel for the better part of the morning, and the two of them hadn’t had anything to eat in a while. Reaching out her hand, she took the fork and ate the pie. It was sweet, but not too sweet, and the apples still kept their crispness. Americans did dessert well, she had to admit. As she enjoyed the pie, her gaze turned to a napkin under Skye’s plate. It was colored differently from the other white ones that the waitress had brought. Gesturing to Skye to move her plate over, Jemma took the napkin and saw a message etched on it with a pen. Her eyes grew wide, and passed it discretely to Skye to read as well.

The two of them nodded at each other, leaving a five-dollar bill on the table. Now here was the lead they’d been looking for.

_**The maitre d’ is a liar. I know what happened to your guy. Meet me in the alley behind this dump tonight, 10pm sharp.** _

“Come in.”

The two detectives walked into Chief Coulson’s office, settling down in the chairs before his desk.

“Chief. I think we have a break here; we were casing the restaurant the house owner runs, and got this note from one of the waitresses after getting nothing from the maitre d’ there.” Skye said, relinquishing the napkin.

The Chief took a look at it, furrowing his brow. “Are you sure this is legitimate? She could be goading you, or worse.”

Jemma answered this time. “I can’t be sure either way, but its the first real lead we’ve gotten sir. The maitre d’ was more than suspicious, and this waitress might know why and maybe what’s going on.”

The Chief nodded at them. “If she’s legitimate, get what you can from her.”

“Any other news on the case?” Skye asked.

He grumbled, leaning back in his chair. “We have a name on the victim from Missing Persons; name of one Gary Schneck, local attorney for the DA. He failed to show up for work a few days ago, and MP connected the dots for us and positively IDed the body. The house owner, Joey Murphy, is still abroad. We couldn’t find any relevant contacts who could speak about him; either nobody wants to talk or this guy has no connection to the case at all. I got the reports on the neighbors from the night of the murder, nothing from them or any of the passerby. No witnesses, no sightings of the 911 caller.”

He stood up, putting his coat on. “Your waitress could be the only real lead we get in this whole thing. I expect some results here; I don’t want this to blow up in our faces or turn into a cold case. If anything goes south I want you to pull back and call for backup. Understood?"

“Understood, sir.” the pair responded.

 

*** - later that night - ***

 

 _Detectives, I have two units on standby ready to move if anyone starts shooting. Be careful out there._ the Chief said, his voice cracking over the radio in their squad car.

As they pulled up to the now darkened storefront, Jemma gave her partner’s hand a squeeze. “Ready, love?”

Skye looked back at her, eyes determined. “Always. You take point, I’ve got your back.”

The two exited the car and made their way down the alley next to the restaurant. It was almost too dark to see anything, the light from the streets barely illuminating anything. Rounding the corner, Jemma looked back at Skye. Her gun was drawn, ready to move at a moment’s notice.

Ahead of them was their person of interest, now dressed in a coat and keeping a low profile against the wall.

“Miss Angie, am I correct…?” Jemma said as she approached.

“Yup, Angie Martinelli. I’m glad the two of you showed; I thought the napkin thing wouldn’t work, but you’ve got some sly eyes there.”

“Miss Martinelli, I’m Detective Jemma Simmons, this is my partner Skye. You’re the one who passed us the napkin earlier today?”

She perked up. “Yes indeed. I have information on your case. I heard about it on the radio; figured it’d only be a matter of time until you came running to the restaurant. To be honest I thought you were gonna come in guns blazing, what with all the shady characters around there…”

Skye holstered her gun. “So I’m assuming that you know our victim.”

“Yeah I do, he was one of my fans. I moonlight as an actress outside of this bum waitress job, and he always came out to my shows. He was a lawyer, a real big-shot at the DA’s office. He said he liked me the most…he’d tell me about his work, and I’d tell him about mine, and it just so happened that he was investigating the restaurant owner for money laundering. Apparently the owner’s wife took most of his stuff when they split, and he started funneling money from a few n’er-do-wells. He found out, and contracted someone to take a hit out on Gary…”

Jemma could hear Angie’s voice start to break.

“He…he said he was going to get a warrant out to search Murphy’s house, and that was only a few days ago…I didn’t hear back from him, I thought he’d gotten what he needed but…”

“But what?” Skye pressed.

“…I heard the maitre d’hotel chatting on the phone with Mr. Murphy…said that ‘that crooked lawyer isn’t going to trouble us anymore’…he’s a bad man, that one…brings in all of the crime bosses and villains to the place. That restaurant is a hive for bad eggs.”

Jemma jumped in, putting her hand on Angie’s now-trembling shoulder. “Angie, is there any way you can come with us, to give a formal statement? We can nip this whole thing if you tell us everything in writing at the station.”

“They don’t know I know these things,” she replied weakly, “Once they do I’m done for, and not in a good way...”

Skye spoke up this time. “We can protect you, Angie. We’ll assign you an escort at all times. We need your help, and we’ll do anything to keep you safe.”

Angie bit her lower lip. “Ok. I’ll come with you guys; I can do it now if you want. I don’t have anywhere else to be…”

As the pair started to lead Angie back to their car, a series of pops rang out, the sounds echoing in the alleyway.

**POP POP POP**

As soon as Skye heard the distinctive report of gunfire, she instinctively leapt on top of Angie to shield her from the bullets. In the frenzy, Skye coughed out as she hit the ground and inhaled a cloud of dust.

_Shit._

“Angie…” she breathed out, “Angie, are you ok…!?”

She sputtered out a weak reply. “Y-Yeah, you’re crushing me, detective…I didn’t know you cop-types could be so forward…What happened?”

“Someone shot at us,” Skye replied, her eyes quickly scanning their surroundings, “Get around the corner and hide, now!”

Angie scurried away, not wasting a second. Skye picked herself up and drew her gun. 

_Check your sectors, Skye._

“Jemma, did you see where the shots came from?”

No response. She spotted her partner a few feet away to the side, lying face down on the ground.

_No…!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What'll happen to Jemma...?!?
> 
> Cliffhangers are cliche, but I promise it'll work in the end! Also apologies to people who read my fics and see that Jemma tends to be the one who gets hurt; it's not intentional. :( I suppose my plans kind of just end up like that. If you hate it, hate away friend.
> 
> The ME's office here takes a note from the Forrestal Building on Independence Ave (the current DoE), since the *actual* OCME in DC is a really modern-looking glass thing. Also, the restaurant locale was inspired by a part of DC called Penn Quarter, a stone's throw from the local and federal judiciary. Lots of alleys, not-so-well lit areas, and small businesses there. I was there a few days ago and thought it'd make a great setting to write this chapter in.
> 
> Leave a word or two if you like!


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